


High for This

by JazzyNym



Series: House of Balloons [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Potentially Bad Decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:12:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzyNym/pseuds/JazzyNym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is having a hard time dealing with his mother’s death. Derek is having a hard time coping with the murder of his family. Both find each other amid attempts to rid themselves of their crushing thoughts and help one another to forgot. It’s not necessarily a good thing. But, then again, it’s not really a bad thing either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, not really sure how this is gonna turn out. It's just been nagging away at me til I finally wrote it. The title comes from the song by the Weeknd, because I have listened to that album (the namesake of this series, House of Balloons) about a million times and somehow that song inspired this story. Any subsequent stories inspired by these songs may be posted here, or maybe I'll just continue with this story as a series? Lemme know what you think. Comments, suggestions, or even just kudos are all welcome. Let's me know how I'm doin'. Seeing as this is my first story here and in this fandom, well, read at your own risk.

"Stilinski."

It all started on a Tuesday.

" _Stilinski_."

Tuesdays sucked—they weren't the fresh start of Mondays, the halfway mark of Wednesdays, the anticipation of Thursdays, or the celebration of Fridays. Tuesdays were just days to wade through, to push forward and endure because you have no other choice.

There was also the fact that one month ago to the day, Stiles' mother had died.

It had been a long time coming; everyone saw that, but it did nothing to lessen the pain. No amount of time knowing the inevitable was going to happen, that there was nothing he, or anyone, could do to stop it could've prepared him for losing her. It still came as a surprise; one day she was there, holding his hand and telling him what she'd planned to get him for his birthday, and the next she was gone. It tore a hole in him, something that no amount of condolences or casseroles could diminish. He fucking hated casseroles.

"Hey, Stilinski!"

Stiles was tired. He was tired of people offering sympathies; most of them were half-hearted at best, given because it was the "right thing to do," some obligation they felt the need to fill. He was tired of everyone treating him like a porcelain doll—too afraid to take him off the shelf for fear that he'd break, but unabashedly staring at him like he was some exhibit at the zoo. He was tired of his father tip-toeing around him, drinking himself to sleep every night while burying himself in his work during the day. He was tired of the sad looks. He was tired of the apologies. He was tired of the special treatment. Most of all, he was tired of the pain.

It wasn't the outright pain that had burned through every cell of his being those first weeks when life without his mother became a palpable thing, nor was it the pain that sat in his gut like a stone after, when every thought tried to shift away from memories of her only to be pulled back in like the tide. By now it had dulled to a slow throbbing, like a migraine that wouldn't go away, a clinging, incessant parasite. He was stuck in limbo, the pain both present and absent, ultimately leaving him numb.

He hated the numbness the most. He just wanted to feel something again—joy, sadness, excitement— _anything_ with the vibrancy that he used to.

"Hello! Earth to Stilinski!"

He was currently staring out of the window, completely aware that Coach Finstock was yelling his name. It was a miracle, really, that he'd somehow managed to get his name right for once, something that could probably be attributed to everyone's careful treatment of him lately. It made him hate it that much more.

He was also aware of the burning stares of the rest of his classmates, all silently making assumptions (or, in the case of Heather, not so quietly) about him. It was nothing new. He could also feel Scott's eyes on him, no doubt making that puppy dog expression he always made when he was worried about someone. He loved Scott, but he was really beginning to hate that look more than he should.

" _Dude_ ," Scott said in a horrible attempt at a whisper.

There was a deep sigh followed by the words, "Alright, Danny, do you think you can answer the question for Mr. Stilinski?"

That was when he lost it.

He wasn't sure why that ended up being the catalyst—maybe it was because normally Finstock would have yelled at him, embarrassed him someway in front of the class, threatened him with extra laps at lacrosse practice, _something_ other than just let it go.

All he knew was that one moment he was sitting quietly at his desk, and the next he was standing, shards of glass littered around his feet, his breath coming in heaves as the brisk morning air caressed his cheeks. His chair was nowhere in sight.

Things didn't exactly get better from there.

* * *

 

"Actually, I thought it was quite impressive. Aren't those windows, like, bulletproof or something? I didn't think a measly chair could ever shatter it like that. In fact, I may have just done you a favor—you should really invest in stronger windows. What are those chairs made out of anyways, plastic and aluminum? It definitely shouldn't have gone through the window so easily. Anyone could break in with windows like that. The entire student body is in danger."

"Mr. Stilinski, are you aware of the amount of damage you have caused? What it's going to cost to get it fixed?" He shifted in his chair, changing tactics with his angle, "Do you realize you put not only your life, but the lives of those around you at risk?"

"I'm pretty sure that was your doing with these faulty windows."

Principal Thorne leveled a look at him, one that said he was beyond fed up with him. But, just like everyone else, he wouldn't push. "Look, I understand this is a really hard time for you," and here we go again, "but don't think this excuses your behavior. If anything like this happens again, I won't take it so lightly."

_You shouldn't be taking it so lightly now_  he wanted to say, but he knew better than to push his luck. As much as he hated the special treatment, he didn't particularly like the idea of a serious offense being stamped on his record.

"I'm sending you to Ms. Morrell," Thorne said as he leaned back in his chair, reaching into a drawer to pull out a pad of paper. "You will see her once a week, on any day of your choosing—"

At that, Stiles began to rethink his earlier position. The last person he wanted to see was a _therapist_. “Oh, come _on_ —”

"And you _will_ show up, Mr. Stilinski." There was a hard edge to Thorne's voice, leaving Stiles with no room to argue. "I’m making this mandatory as part of your punishment for the stunt you pulled today. If you do not show up, there will be severe consequences."

Knowing a lost battle when he saw one, he asked instead, "For how long?"

"Until you show yourself to be ready." Thorne ripped off the paper where he’d written a pass, handing it to Stiles with a nod towards the door.

Taking it as his dismissal to go, he snatched the paper while pulling his backpack up onto his shoulder, walking out of Thorne's office without another word. 

It was only when he was halfway through chemistry, studiously trying to ignore the stares and whispers of all the other students, did he realize that Principal Thorne had said  _part_ of your punishment.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Derek was standing in front of what used to be his home. There was still yellow tape tied around the trees, but with time it had sagged in places and torn in others, nothing but pale streamers for the wind to pick up. The grass was dead beneath his feet, and over the past two years what was once the front lawn was buried beneath a solid layer of fall leaves. The front porch seemed to be following close behind with this endeavor, and it was as if the house was trying to meld back into the woods and disappear altogether.

"I still don't understand why you come here."

Derek didn't move at the sound of Laura's voice. He'd heard her drive in, listened to her as she made her way through the woods to the house. It was notably hard to sneak up on a werewolf, even for other weres. But Laura knew Derek would be able to hear her, and that hadn't been her intention anyways.

"I never know what to say to you when you get like this."

"Then don't say anything."

Laura heaved a sigh, kicking at the leaves with the toe of her boot. "You should have gone to school today. Isaac told me that a kid threw a chair through a window in Finstock's class."

Derek raised an eyebrow, finally turning to look at her. "Seriously?"

He could see the slight glint in her eye when he turned to her, knowing that was her way of internally celebrating when she got him to talk, but she didn't say anything of it. Instead, she shrugged. "Apparently. Quite impressive if it's true—thought the windows would be stronger."

"Who was it?"

"Said it was the Stilinski kid."

Derek vaguely knew of him, had seen him a few times in school; he was a scrawny kid that had a loud mouth. His father had been the one assigned to their case after the fire. He was a nice enough guy, something Derek had truly appreciated, and also why he'd felt so bad having to lie to him. "Didn't think he’d have it in him."

"You and the rest of the school, I'm sure," Laura said with a shrug, turning back to look at the house. "But, you know, kid's going through a tough time... Guess everything finally got to him."

He could hear her voice pitch lower at the end of that sentence, knowing her thoughts were drifting to their own tragic history. Laura hated coming here, hated being reminded of what they'd lost. Occasionally she'd come by to pay her respects, or collect Derek whenever need be, but otherwise she avoided it at all costs.

Derek, on the other hand, came here a lot. He attributed it to his masochism, a punishment to have to stand at the sight of his greatest betrayal. When he closed his eyes, he could pretend to smell the scent of dinner baking in the oven, of fresh laundry being put away, of his brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins—of _family_. In reality, all that was left was the lingering scent of burnt flesh and charred wood.

"Was there a reason you came?" he asked, keeping any distinguishable tone from his voice.

She blinked a few times, looking back over at him as if she'd forgotten that he was there. "Oh, um, no… not really. Just makin' sure my little brother is alright."

"Peter sent you, didn't he?"

He could practically hear her eyes roll. "You know, he does care about you Derek, despite what you might think."

He merely grunted in response.

After the fire, Peter had become their guardian. He moved them to a fairly large house on the outskirts of town, far from their old house but still nestled with its back to the woods. In truth it wasn't much, but it was enough for them. Peter pretty much let them live their own lives; he wasn't so much a parent figure as he was a benefactor.

"Speaking of Peter," Laura pushed on, "will you be joining us in the festivities planned for Friday?"

"What?"

"Peter's throwing a party," she said in a _what else could I possibly be talking about_ tone. "Well, no— _I'm_ technically throwing it, but he's supplying the refreshments."

"That was a terrible segue," he spoke flatly.

"He said it would be good for you to come," she continued, as if he'd said nothing at all, "that you needed to loosen up a little. I can't say I don't agree with him. You've been doing that whole broody, the-world-is-against-me thing again," she said with a wrinkle of her nose. "I think it's time you had some joy thrust back in your life."

"Laura," he began with a deep sigh, "I—"

"Nope!" she cut him off before he could finish. "No if, ands, or buts. You're going. I _may_ have left out the part where it was non-negotiable."

He leveled her with the infamous Hale glare, but it was completely lost on her. When Laura wanted something, she tended to get it no matter what. That war was lost before it had even started.

"Oh, don't give me that," she embellished with a roll of her eyes. "Besides, the whole pack is going. It'll be fun!"

Derek made an irritated noise in response.

"Hey, none of that! Just because you don't like them doesn't mean we shouldn't bond with our pack—"

" _Your_ pack, Laura," he snapped. "Not mine."

There was a notable pause where Derek could almost feel Laura suppressing her alpha instincts to put him in line. After she'd become alpha, she'd promised to never use her power over him beyond when it was absolutely necessary. While she had always been his older sister, having grown up so close made the adjustment to her power more difficult.

"Derek," she began slowly, keeping her voice even, "they're _our_ pack, both of us. You need to bond with them as much as I do."

"No Laura, I really don't. They're your pack; you chose them, now they're your responsibility."

"And part of that responsibility is making sure this pack functions well as a unit, that everyone is included," she shot back. "I know you didn't ask for this Derek, but, like it or not, they're part of this pack now. Besides, they're good kids. Just give them a chance," she ended on a sigh, the closest her voice would get to a plea.

After a long pause, Derek conceded that it would just be better to give in on this occasion rather than keep antagonizing her. "Fine."

"Thank you," she nodded softly, her lips spreading in a small smile as she reached up to touch his arm. He instinctually leaned into the touch, enjoying the affectionate touch from his sister—his _alpha_ —before she dropped her hand, turning to head back towards the car.

"It could have been just us, you know," he mused aloud. "We could have left, made it on our own."

He heard her footsteps come to a stop at his words, and felt rather than saw the sadness that no doubt colored her features. "Der…" She paused, as if considering her words before continuing. "Truthfully? I wouldn’t give us a week. Remember all the trouble we used to get into? Just imagine us out there on our own; we’d probably get ourselves into more trouble than we could ever sweet-talk our way out of."

The lighthearted tone from before had seeped back into her voice, and despite himself Derek couldn't stop the small smile that pulled at his lips from the memories. "You never know; maybe we've grown out of that."

She gave a derisive laugh. "Yeah, right. I'll see you at home."

Derek listened to her turn and head back to her car, listened as she drove away until the car was a mere hum in the distance, blending in with all the others.

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket, staring back up at the burnt shell of his old life. Maybe the party wouldn't be too bad; it'd been awhile since he'd been social in any form, and while the idea didn't exactly thrill him, maybe it _was_ time for him to return to society. And even though he didn't agree with Laura's choice of pack members, he knew he would have to get used to them eventually.

And maybe he could allow this anniversary to pass without any pain.

 


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, Stiles also got detention for the entire week.

In all honestly, he deserved worse than this. But that didn’t make him resent it any less; if anything, it made him resent it more.

Thankfully, with lacrosse season in full swing, it wasn’t Finstock who ran detention; instead, it was Mr. Harris. Normally this would put Stiles on edge since he was pretty sure the man had a personal vendetta against him, but for once it was actually nice to be leveled with the same glare the chemistry teacher reserved for the rest of the detention regulars—like they were the scum of the earth and an utter waste of time and effort.

It wasn’t too hard to figure out who they were after a few days, either. Most kids only got a day’s worth of detention, so they were gone by the next day. There were a few, though, who showed up every day, usually late, and looked as though detention was practically a second home for them. They shamelessly goaded Harris—always at the threat of another detention, but at that point it must have been for appearance’s sake since they _always_ had detention—and never did any work assigned to them.

Terry Johnson used this time to fill up his notebook with doodles, Brian Cunningham made spit balls and hurled them at Terry, Sarah Miller was either texting furiously or, after Harris inevitably took her phone, fiddling with anything near her she could get her hands on, and Stephen Pratt was in a different universe all together. No one was sure if he even knew he was in detention most of the time, but he showed up every day at five-past like clock-work. He never said anything, and usually sat far away from everyone else. Stiles wondered what he did to get in here, but thought it better not to ask.

It wasn’t until Thursday that he met Erica Reyes.

About fifteen minutes into their two-hour purgatory, the door flew open to a whirl of blond curls and leather.

“Ms. Reyes, how nice of you to join us. Care to explain where you’ve been for the past three days?”

“My cat died,” she replied curtly, dropping her purse with a thud on the desk next to Stiles’ before slipping gracefully into her seat. “I was in mourning.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Harris replied in a tone of blatant disbelief.

“Yes,” Erica replied in a _you-must-be-stupid-or-deaf_ tone of voice. “You couldn’t have _honestly_ expected me to come to school after that. Mittens was my one true friend in this world; she meant everything to me.” To her credit, Stiles thought he actually saw tears rimming her eyes. “Besides, isn’t there some ‘death in the family’ clause to being absent from school? I was completely within my right to stay home with her during her last few days on this earth.”

Mr. Harris looked like he was about contest that ‘death in the family’ didn’t extend to pets, but thought better of it and merely grumbled a ‘sorry for your loss’ that didn’t sound in the tiniest bit sincere.

Erica gave a sickeningly sweet smile in return. “Thank you, Mr. Harris. That means a lot coming from you.”

Mr. Harris didn’t reply, merely went back to grading papers. With his attention gone, Erica shifted her own attention on Stiles. “Hey, you the kid who threw the chair through the window?”

It was in that moment that he realized he would never live this down. “Bingo! I do believe we have a winner. Want a prize?” he replied in monotone, not really in the mood to be interrogated about the event.

“Sarcastic,” she said as if placing a label on a book, a small tug of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “What happened? Never known you to be much of a troublemaker.”

“I could say the same about you,” he deflected.

He’d never actually hung out with Erica, but he’d known about her, just like the rest of the school. She was the girl who has seizures, an introvert who kept to herself and avoided all social activities like the plague. Beyond that, however, she was a model student who never caused any problems—at least, that’s how it was up until a few months ago. Seemingly out of the blue it was as if a designer from Glamour Magazine had given her a makeover, and consequently she was bumped up to the top of the ‘most desirable’ list in their school—hell, probably within the county. But along with this new look also came a new attitude, one that found her in detention more often than not.

“Yeah, well, maybe I was just fed up with taking shit from everyone,” she brushed off with a shrug.

“I guess you could say the same for me,” Stiles replied, leaning forward to rest his chin on his palm.

There was a subtle shift in her expression, one Stiles was all too familiar with these days. To Erica’s credit, though, it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. “You should come to the Hale’s party Friday night.”

That caught Stiles completely off guard. “I should… _what_?”

“Party. Hale’s. Friday night. I don’t see what’s hard to understand about that,” she said with a flick of her hair. “You should come. Trust me, it’ll be good for you.”

Stiles was wary of the smile that came along with those words, but more so of the words themselves. He knew the story of the Hales—everyone in Beacon Hills did—but he’d never personally met any of them. The closest he came was when the fire happened; his dad had been the first officer on the scene, and Stiles just happened to be in the car when his dad responded to the call.

“I can’t just,” he gave a vague gesture with his hand, “ _show up_. I don’t know any of them. Besides which, I have no reason to be there.”

She waved it off with, “You can be my plus one.”

He narrowed his eyes warily. “Why are you asking me to go?”

“I _told_ you already,” she said as if it physically pained her to repeat herself, “it will be good for you.”

“And what reason do you have for helping me? We’ve barely spoken since the sixth grade.”

“Let me ask you this, Stiles,” she said as she turned to face him fully. “Would you rather stay at home and wallow in your sorrow, or forget it all and just let yourself have fun for _one night_?” Her voice gave a tone of finality, as if this would be the last time she’d ask him and, consequently, the last chance he’d have to make up his mind.

He thought over it for a long moment, debating whether this was a good idea. Part of him warned that it seemed too easy, that she had no reason to invite him. Another told him to stay home and take care of his dad, who he knew would be spending his night with the usual bottle in his hand. But yet another, the part that’s been slowly clawing at his insides, desperately trying to climb out of his skin and experience the world like he used to, screamed at him to go.

He took a deep breath and, after weighing each option, decided to abandon his last remaining shred of self-preservation.

“What time is it?”

Because what did he really have to lose, anyways?

“Excuse me,” the very put-upon voice of Mr. Harris spoke from behind his desk, “but last time I checked, this was _detention_ , not social hour. If you cannot abide by the rules, then I assure you I will give you something to keep you _very_ busy for the rest of the time.”

A wicked grin painted Erica’s lips as she turned back in her seat. “Come around 9.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

_You don’t know what’s in store_   
_But you know what you’re here for_   
_Close your eyes_   
_Lay yourself beside me_   
_Hold tight for this ride_   
_We don’t need no protection_   
_Come along_   
_We don’t need attention_

* * *

 

The party had been going on for a while now; there were both humans and werewolves in attendance, Laura claiming that by allowing the betas to invite friends over it would show them that they didn’t have to exclude everyone else in their lives just because of what they’d become. Bitten weres had a different transition into this life, Derek knew this on an intellectual level, but he couldn’t really understand it from their point of view. Everything for him had been instinctual; the wolf had been part of him since birth, and even though it made him different, he never felt the need to separate himself from others because of it.

All of that changed after the fire, though. Laura encouraged him to invite friends over, but it was more out of courtesy than anything else; she knew he was alone now, and that he preferred it that way. Being unable to tell anyone what had truly happened, why his entire family had been burned alive simply because of what some of them were—and because of his own mistake—had strained even his best friendships.

Yet, in the end, what truly tore them apart was the sympathy; he couldn’t stand hearing how sorry everyone was and how none of it was his fault. It was easier to pull away. He simply ignored people, and after a while they ignored him as well.

The drinks laced with a special type of wolfsbane (kept carefully separate from the regular drinks offered to the humans) had just begun to make their impact known; Derek was on his third one, and he was beginning to doubt Peter’s insistence that they weren’t that strong. There was a light buzz humming throughout his body, and he felt warm, almost at ease; something he hadn’t felt since before the fire.

Yeah, these were definitely stronger than he’d been led to believe.

Derek had been hanging out in the backyard where only a few people were, and among them was one of the betas, Boyd. Derek didn’t mind hanging around Boyd because he was quiet and kept to himself, much like Derek. He also had the distinct impression that Boyd was a lot smarter than he let on, since he was practically the only beta he could hold a conversation with without rolling his eyes every two minutes.

They had been casually chatting—it could almost be called friendly, Laura would be so proud—when they both decided to head in to refresh their drinks. It was as Derek was making his way inside when it hit him. It was a certain smell, not particularly strong, but acute, and Derek’s senses seemed keen on seeking out its source. As they made their way into the kitchen the scent got stronger, but with so many people milling about it kept getting lost in other scents. There was also the small fact that Derek wasn’t exactly at one hundred percent.

“You OK?” he heard Boyd ask from beside him.

He glanced up, noticing the concerned look on his face before shrugging it off. “Yeah, just... got distracted.” He walked over to where their stash was, grabbing one for himself before handing another to Boyd, who accepted it with a nod of thanks.

The house was considerably louder than outside, full of people shouting to one another and music being pumped into the living room, an area Erica had dubbed the dance floor. It was partially visible from the main entrance to the kitchen, and from where Derek stood he could see that there were, to his surprise, actually a good number of people dancing. Among those people, he noted, was his sister, along with Erica who was currently dancing on—Derek blinked, staring at the dark-haired boy. He couldn’t immediately make out who it was, but there was a lingering sense of familiarity that Derek couldn’t shake. He was fairly tall—probably as tall as himself, if Derek had to guess—yet his long limbs were rather gangly in appearance. Derek would have expected him to be clumsy on the dance floor, but, to his surprise, the kid wasn’t that bad. At least, he managed moved in time with Erica.

Derek didn’t miss the subtle shift in tension beside him; Boyd must have followed his gaze. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Boyd had a thing for Erica, but for some reason they felt the need to dance around one another without actually doing anything about it. Werewolves weren’t necessarily possessive, but they did tend to be more prone to it than others.

Derek couldn’t help the small grin that touched his lips as he turned back to glance at Boyd, who was resolutely trying not to make it look like he was affected by the scene before them. “You OK?” he asked in a mock reflection of Boyd’s earlier inquiry.

In return, Boyd merely leveled him with an unimpressed look.

“I’ll take care of it,” he offered as he set his drink on the counter. Boyd’s eyebrow twitched upwards, in surprise or amusement, Derek couldn’t tell.

He headed out into the living room, the mass of people easily parting for him. When he was younger he always thought that maybe humans had some innate knowledge that there was a predator in their midst, that they could sense it when he was near, much like how animals in the wild could sense when something wasn’t right, even when they couldn’t see the threat directly in front of them. Laura, on the other hand, had merely told him that he was born with a chronic murder-face that put people off and that he should learn to smile more. He’d responded with a scowl.

As he neared them, the scent from before became even stronger, hitting him so hard that it actually stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t understand it; it wasn’t like the scent was anything particularly special, at least not that he could tell, but somehow it was familiar. The wolf inside him yearned to be closer, and he felt gravitated towards it as a result. He really should have stopped at two drinks.

He shook his head in a vain attempt to rid himself of the feeling while making a mental note to never trust Peter again. He continued to make his way through the crowd, trying to ignore the pull, but with wolfsbane clouding his senses he didn’t realize until he was almost right next to them that the scent was coming from the boy Erica was dancing with. Being able to zero in on the source didn’t make anything easier, but he still forced himself to focus on the task at hand rather than risk allowing his instincts get the better of him.

Still, he couldn’t resist toying with the kid. He let his hands fall to the boy’s waist, leaning in until his chest just barely pressed against his back. He waited until he felt the boy’s movement stop with realization, leaning down close to his ear as he spoke. “While I can’t comment on your choice in partner, I feel I should warn you that she’s already spoken for.”

The boy turned then, and Derek was struck momentarily by eyes that seemed to glow gold in the low light of the room. His eyes nearly flashed blue in response, but he managed to restrain himself, and it was then when he truly took in his features: the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the smattering of moles across pale skin that was flush pink from exertion, and the impossibly long eyelashes that made his eyes stand out even more. The pull he’d felt before was suddenly coming back tenfold, but for a much different reason.

Yet there was still an air of familiarity surrounding him, and only when Erica’s voice broke through his reverie did Derek realize that he was staring into the face of the Sheriff’s son, Stiles Stilinski. He forced his desires down then, feeling that somehow he was betraying one of the few people who had ever helped him in his life. Still, he wasn’t pushing him away, and with Stiles enraptured in his gaze Derek couldn’t resist teasing him just a little more, leaning in until his lips brushed against the outer shell of his ear. “It’s your choice, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He pulled away then, making his way through the crowd as seamlessly as before. When he returned to the kitchen he was met with a dubious look from Boyd, but he shrugged it off as he reached for his drink. “Just wait for it,” was all he offered.

Boyd looked skeptical, but, sure enough, less than a minute later Stiles came fumbling into the kitchen, somehow managing to look equal parts guilty and innocent.

“Uh, hey Boyd. It’s Boyd, right?”

Boyd turned to Derek then, who hid his grin behind a swig of his drink. Clearly restraining an eye roll, he looked back at Stiles and merely stared at him.

Stiles looked rapidly between them before he began speaking again. “Uh... Right! Well, um, Erica, my completely, totally, one hundred percent plutonic friend said she uh, that she wanted to talk to you.” His hands slipped into his pockets in an attempt to feign nonchalance, but even Derek could tell he was lying without having to listen to his heartbeat.

Boyd, to his credit, didn’t call him out on it. Instead, a small, almost feral grin fleetingly touched his lips before he gave a single nod, setting his drink on the counter before brushing past Stiles and heading out into the living room.

An audible gust of air left Stiles then, his body sagging against the nearest wall once Boyd was out of sight. He slowly turned to look at Derek, staring at him for a long moment before speaking up. “Thanks for that.”

Derek leaned back against the counter and shrugged.

“Ruined all my fun though,” Stiles said as he pushed himself off the wall, turning as he made his way towards Derek.

“How will I ever live with myself,” he deadpanned, his eyes tracking Stiles’ movements as he came closer. Now that there were less people in the room, it was harder to ignore the scent coming off of him. He didn’t know why it was having such an effect on him, but he forced the feelings down and focused on Stiles’ face instead, not missing the smile that passed Stiles’ lips at his words.

“But what gives? Why help me out?” Stiles asked as he rounded Derek, coming to rest against the counter beside him. Stiles looked back up at him, his eyes narrowing. “Were you... jealous?” He accentuated the question with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Derek held back the urge to roll his eyes. “I figured a vicious mauling would ruin the mood.”

“What? No, Boyd wouldn’t _actually_ , they’re not even...” His voice trailed off as Derek leveled him with a look. “No way, really?” Stiles turned to look back towards the living room. “I’ve never even seen them hang out. But, I guess the heart wants what the heart wants.” He turned back to look at Derek then. “How’d you know?”

Derek could understand how the connection might seem out of the blue; even now, Boyd was still an outlier in their pack, although not as much as Derek himself. He never hung out with Erica or Isaac in school, and seemed just as interested in Laura’s “bonding time” as Derek was. Slowly, however, Derek had begun noticing him warming up to the pack, and most notably his gravitation towards Erica.

 “You could call it instinct,” he replied as he took another sip of his drink, feeling Stiles’ eyes on him as he did so. His eyes remained out on the crowd, however, and he could just make out Erica and Boyd in a very similar position to the one in which he’d found her and Stiles in. Before he even realized he was speaking, he added, “It’s not that surprising, all things considered.”

Derek could tell that Stiles was staring at him in disbelief, judging by the tone of his voice. “All things considered? They’re like, complete opposites! I would have never seen this coming, not in a million years!”

“That’s because you don’t pay attention,” he said as he briefly glanced back to Stiles, confirming his earlier prediction of the stat of his features. “Between them, it’s more subtle. She’s looking for someone who can give her protection, who can make her feel safe. Boyd can do that, and he genuinely cares for her, not just her looks.”

Stiles scoffed. “I could totally protect her. I may not be all,” he gestured towards Boyd, “muscly and whatnot, but I can stand my own.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Derek replied flatly, “but that’s not the sort of protection I’m referring to.” He’d known Erica’s backstory, why Laura had chosen her out of everyone. His current theory was that she wanted comfort more than anything else, someone who could understand what it was like to be ignored, cast aside, and looked down on. She wanted someone who could protect her from her own thoughts and fears, giver her reassurance and support.

“Damn, so you’re saying I never even had a chance.” Stiles let out an exaggerated sigh before adding, “So, what is it you’re looking for?”

Derek’s mind suddenly went completely blank. He hadn’t expected that question at all, nor, he decided, was he in any shape to answer it since the first thing that did manage to come to the forefront of his thoughts was _you_. That gave him pause more than the question itself.

Stiles seemed to process what he’d actually said when Derek didn’t immediately answer, and he quickly began backtracking. “Not, not that you have to answer that or anything! I was just, um, making conversation?” He scratched the back of his head nervously. “Just ignore me, I don’t know what I’m saying. Probably just the alcohol speaking. Well, that, and the ADD. I kind of have no control over-”

“I don’t know.”

This managed to stop Stiles mid-sentence. “You don’t...”

He shrugged as he turned to look out towards the living room. His eyes scanned over the mass of people, couples talking, dancing, not-so-discretely making out in darkened corners. Ever since Kate, Derek hadn’t thought about another person, at least not in that sense. Laura wouldn’t touch the subject, probably too scared of what it might do to Derek. Peter, on the other hand, told him almost regularly that he needed to get out more. According to Peter, moping about it wouldn’t change anything, and that the only way to get over it was to find someone else. Derek found that Peter was always eager to dispense life advice that no one asked for.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. The truth was that Derek did, in fact, “get out more.” After a year had gone by, he decided that brooding over Kate had become too tedious and draining. He knew not everyone was like Kate, and he thought that maybe holding a normal relationship would somehow help to prove that. So he tried dating again, but nothing ever stuck. Whenever things began to get serious, when they wanted him to open up, he immediately pulled away. To allow himself to be vulnerable around someone the way he was with Kate… In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to ever commit to anything. Since then all he’s left behind is a string of casual fucks kept carefully hidden from both Peter and his sister.

“I haven’t given it much thought, I suppose.” _Preferably someone who won’t lie about loving me, about accepting who I am before murdering my family_ , he thought to himself before immediately pushing it away. He didn’t want to think about Kate or any of what had happened, especially not tonight. “Not really looking, anyways.”

“Oh.” Derek couldn’t distinguish Stiles’ tone, but it almost sounded disheartened. “It’s, uh, Derek, right?” Stiles spoke after a moment. “Derek Hale?”

He gave a nod in reply.

“I’m Stiles, Stiles Stilinski. Well, no, that’s not really my name, but everyone calls me that because my first name is impossible to pronounce. I’m not even sure my dad knows how to pronounce it to be honest.”

At that moment Derek idly wondered if he was always this talkative, or if it was just an effect of the alcohol. “I know who you are.”

There was a pause before, “Right!” Stiles flourished with a wild hand gesture, “of course you do.” He slumped back against the counter with a defeated sigh. “Who doesn’t know the kid who threw a chair through the window? My mistake.”

Derek’s eyebrows raised somewhat in confusion. “No, that’s not-” He stopped short, setting his drink down on the counter as he turned to him. “Stiles, I know your dad.”

A range of emotions crossed Stiles’ face before landing on what Derek interpreted as dumbfounded. Then, very slowly, realization. “Oh... yeah, no, that too. That, that completely makes sense,” he said with a nod. “Um, sorry about that. I just... people have been talking about it non-stop, like it’s the most interesting thing that could have ever happened. And they keep asking me all these questions about it and, I dunno. I just figured you’d start asking them too.”

“Are you going ask me about the fire?” Derek didn’t miss that Stiles knew his name as well. While he’d been fairly well known around before, it was only after what had happened when _everybody_ knew his name. Derek Hale: the boy whose family died tragically in a fire. It was just one more thing he’d have to live with for the rest of his life.

Stiles stared at him for a long moment, his eyes searching Derek’s. He didn’t look away, steadily holding his gaze and allowing him to take from it whatever he was searching for. “No,” he finally said, his tone softer than before, “no, I’m not.”

“Good,” he replied with a nod.

There was a comfortable silence between them for a moment before Stiles started speaking again. “So, Derek,” he began, turning to face him more, “why aren’t you dancing?”

Derek almost wanted to laugh at the question. “I don’t dance.”

“Lie,” Stiles declared, as if he were the werewolf who knew when people were lying. “ _Everybody_ dances. Fact.”

“Not me,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Aw, come on!” Stiles placed his hands at Derek’s hips in what he guessed was supposed to be a teasing gesture, yet it left a warm feeling curling up in the pit of Derek’s stomach. “I bet you’d be a great dancer!”

Derek watched Stiles’ lips as he spoke, taking note of the slight tilt when he grinned. He could feel the heat of Stiles’ palms through the fabric of his shirt, the unconscious curl of his fingers against his skin. Suddenly, Derek _wanted_. He wanted to know what that smooth skin would feel like beneath his fingertips, how their lips would fit together if he moved just that much closer.

Derek knew he should stop before this got any further, that he should push Stiles away now and leave. But when Stiles was the first one to pull away, he couldn’t stop his hands from reaching out and capturing his wrists. He could hear Stiles’ heartbeat spike, and while there was a lingering scent of fear hanging off of him, that wasn’t the dominant scent; Derek knew arousal when he smelled it, and there was no denying that Stiles was interested in Derek, too.

As if to prove this further, when he dropped his wrists, Stiles didn’t make a move to pull away. This, of course, didn’t make willing himself to leave any easier. But there was the part of him that questioned why leaving was the best option. Because really, what was the worst that could happen?

He finally let his eyes drift back up to meet those golden brown orbs and, abandoning all rational though, said, “I can think of better things to do than dancing.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Take it off_   
_You want it off_   
_'Cause I know what you're feeling_   
_It's OK_   
_Girl, I feel it too_   
_Let it be_   
_Baby breathe_   
_I swear, I am right here_   
_We'll be good_   
_I promise we'll be so good_

* * *

 

It had taken exactly two beers and three shots to get Stiles to dance. At first he was apprehensive about coming, worried he would end up being a fly on the wall (as per usual) so he brought Scott along as insurance. When he told Scott about the party, he’d seemed ecstatic about it. Whether it was because it meant actually getting Stiles out of the house, or because he knew his long-time crush, Allison Argent, would be there, he wasn’t sure. However, this plan backfired the moment Scott had gathered enough liquid courage to go and talk to Allison. Apparently they’d hit it off, because Stiles hadn’t seen him since.

Stiles made idle conversation with a few groups of people, but constantly being asked about the whole window incident was quickly getting old. He was just beginning to regret his decision to come when Erica spotted him. It was as if she could sense his unease, and it seemed at that moment her mission became to make Stiles enjoy himself. She dragged him over to a group of her friends and at first he was hesitant to join the conversation, but when none of them brought up what had happened at school he decided they weren’t so bad.

Then Erica, sporting a devilish grin, asked him to dance. It was as if she wanted him to say no, just so she had an excuse to ‘loosen him up’ by means of making him take multiple shots. He still isn’t quite sure how she’d managed to get him to take them, but a few drinks later he was following her out into the living room to dance.

Contrary to popular belief, Stiles could actually dance… relatively speaking. In all honestly, he was usually more awkward than not, but the type of dancing Erica was doing didn’t exactly take much skill beyond being able to sway to the beat. He let her take the lead (as if he had a choice) and moved with her, their bodies swaying together seamlessly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, a brilliant smile painting her lips. He let his hands fall to her waist, her warm laughter drifting through him and, without realizing it, returned her smile.

He was happily buzzed and for once his mind was far from the tragic event that had once consumed his every thought. Even the small part of him that told him he should ashamed to be happy and enjoying himself like this was quieted, fading away into the liquid hum of alcohol thrumming through his veins. It was a sort of numbness—not the kind that he’d been feeling before, but one that numbed him from his own absence of feeling, that let him experience everything with a sort of distant complacency. It wasn’t the refusal the feel the emotions that simmered just below the surface, but a sense that they weren’t the biggest concern anymore, that the experiences before him were worthy of note, that he could take joy in the simple act of being. Death hadn’t come for him, so why should he give up on living?

Stiles wasn’t sure when it happened, but all of a sudden he became very aware of another body pressed against his own. The hands at his waist were hard, as was the chest against his back, and it took him a long moment before his mind put the pieces together.

“While I can’t comment on your choice in partner, I feel I should warn you that she’s already spoken for.”

The voice at his ear was deep, and Stiles couldn’t help the shiver that ran through his body at the tone. He turned then, his eyes landing on the last person he’d expect to see standing behind him.

“Derek, what the hell?”

It was Erica who spoke, because Stiles’ brain was still trying to catch up, but Derek’s eyes never left his. He leaned down then, getting just close enough that Stiles could feel the brush of his lips against his ear. “It’s your choice, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And just like that, he was gone. The crowd swallowed him up, and it was as if he’d never even been there. Maybe it had been a hallucination, a fabrication of his inebriated mind. Why else would _Derek Hale_ , of all people, have come up to him like that?

Yet when he looked around, attempting to find him amongst the sea of people, he noticed another set of eyes staring intently in his direction. He recognized the kid—Boyd, if memory serves right—and quickly took note of the somewhat murderous undertone of his stare.

“What was that all about?”

Stiles turned back to look at Erica, who looked just as confused as he felt. “I think your boyfriend wants to murder me,” he said as he nodded back in Boyd’s direction.

“Boyfriend? I don’t have a…” Erica looked past Stiles, and he knew the exact moment she laid eyes on him because a soft smile came to her lips. “He’s not my boyfriend, Stiles,” she said as she turned back to look up at him.

“Yeah, well, either way, I’d rather keep my limbs. They accentuate this body quite nicely,” he said as he moved his hands, gesturing to his body to prove his point. “Want a drink?”

She rolled her eyes with a laugh. “If you’re going to ditch me, at least tell Boyd to get his ass over here.”

Stiles watched her slip back into a group of people seamlessly, already moving to the beat by the time he’d turned around and headed towards the kitchen. Now all he had to do was not get murdered by Erica’s not-boyfriend. It was saying something that he was just now beginning to question his life choices.

By some miracle, Boyd didn’t attack him. In fact, he barely did anything threatening at all. Well, his face did a lot of subtle threatening, but Stiles wasn’t sure if he even knew he was doing it. Either way, he managed to keep all his precious fingers and toes, and Stiles considered that a win.

Only thing was, he was now left alone in the kitchen with Derek.

Well, alone was partially a stretch—there were people moving in an out sporadically and milling near the entrances, but he and Derek were the only ones who steadily occupied the room.

He leaned back against the nearest wall, exhaling slowly as he turned to look at Derek. The man was good looking, there was no denying that. Plus, since he’d come back to school he’d let his facial hair grow in, which made him look considerably older than most of the seniors. Granted, he was about a year older than the rest of the seniors since he’d missed so much school his sophomore year he’d had to essentially start over again, but still, it wasn’t fair. His stubble and piercing eyes and leather jacket were doing things to Stiles’ alcohol laden brain that were in no way helping.

“Thanks for that,” he finally managed to get out, hopefully before his blatant staring started to err on the creepy side. Derek gave no verbal response, only shrugged in reply, and Stiles felt compelled to continue. “Ruined all my fun though.”

He pushed himself off the wall and headed towards Derek, telling himself that it would make conversation easier between them. The fact that he just wanted to be closer didn’t affect his decision at all; at least, that’s what he told himself.

“How will I ever live with myself.”

Stiles almost stopped when Derek finally spoke. Perhaps it was just the fact that he’d gotten him to speak, or maybe it was that for all the dark, brooding attitude he gave off, the last thing Stiles expected to hear was any semblance of humor. He dropped his head, trying to hide the lopsided smile spreading across his lips as he rounded Derek, coming to rest against the counter beside him.

“But what gives? Why help me out?” Once he got himself under control, he was able to look back up at Derek. He was genuinely curious, but he couldn’t help adding, “Were you… jealous?” He flourished the question with a waggle of his eyebrows, and upon a moment of reflection would come to realize that he was well and truly buzzed.

Derek stared at him for a long moment, but just before Stiles was about to backtrack and go on what would surely be a bumbling rant about how he was just kidding and that he didn’t mean anything by it, he replied. “I figured a vicious mauling would ruin the mood.”

Once again, Stiles was blindsided by his dry humor. But he also noted that, for whatever it was worth, Derek didn’t completely dismiss him. Stiles decided to take that as a good thing.

Stiles asked about Boyd and Erica then, because he honestly never saw that coming. Boyd and Erica were practically opposites; at least, they seemed that way now after whatever had happened to Erica. Even Derek’s explanation for how it would all make sense if he’d just step back and consider it left him skeptical. Although, he did quietly admit to himself that they would make a cute couple.

“Damn, so you’re saying I never even had a chance,” he said with a dramatic sigh. Then, without thinking too much of it, he went on to ask, “So, what is it you’re looking for?”

Stiles’ question was met with tangible silence. He glanced over then, and noticed Derek staring at him with no discernable expression on his face. Then he looked lost. _Oh god_ , Stiles thought suddenly in panic, _I broke Derek Hale_. After taking a moment to review the question he’d asked, he realized very quickly that Derek may have taken the question the wrong way.

“Not, not that you have to answer that or anything!” he amended, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck nervously. “I was just, um, making conversation?” He dropped his hand, feeling like a complete idiot once again. “Just ignore me, I don’t know what I’m saying. Probably just the alcohol speaking. Well, that, and the ADD. I kind of have no control over-”

“I don’t know.”

Stiles stopped when Derek finally spoke, confusion painting his features. “You don’t…”

Derek shrugged before turning to look back out towards the living room. “I haven’t given it much thought, I suppose,” he said after a moment, before adding, “Not really looking, anyways.”

“Oh,” was all that Stiles could reply. He didn’t know why, but he felt his heart sink a little at that answer. But really, what had he expected? Someone like Derek Hale was never going to be interested in him anyways, even under the best circumstances.

In that same vein, Stiles realized that he hadn’t even introduced himself. “It’s, uh, Derek, right? Derek Hale?” He asked more out of nervousness than anything. He knew who he was—everyone did—but it seemed a safe route to lead with. “I’m Stiles, Stiles Stilinski.” He paused for a moment, and before he could stop himself added, “Well, no, that’s not really my name, but everyone calls me that because my first name is impossible to pronounce. I’m not even sure my dad knows how to pronounce it.”

“I know who you are.”

And there it was again. Stiles wanted to kick himself. After Tuesday, _everyone_ knew who he was. He felt the anger from before begin to rise to the surface again. “Right!” he said, making some indistinct gesture with his hand. “Of course you do. Who doesn’t know the kid who threw a chair through the window? My mistake.” Stiles wanted very much not to be there anymore. He looked back out into the crowd, wondering if he could just make up some excuse to leave and slip out without anyone noticing.

“No, that’s not-” Derek suddenly spoke, pausing before placing his drink on the counter. Stiles turned back just in time to catch him turning fully towards him. “Stiles, I know your dad.”

Many things went through Stiles’ mind at that moment. First was confusion; plenty of people knew his dad, and if they knew him there was a fairly good chance they knew of Stiles too since he had always taken it upon himself to meddle in his cases. But just because they knew _of_ him didn’t mean they _knew_ him, especially not his name. Over the years he’d gotten used to the identifier of “sheriff’s son,” among other things.

It wasn’t until the thought of meddling through his dad’s cases filtered through his thoughts did he realize what Derek had meant—his father had been the one in charge of the Hale case. “Oh…” he finally spoke up, “yeah, no, that too. That, that completely makes sense,” he said dumbly, unsure of how to respond. “Um, sorry about that. I just… people have been talking about that stupid chair non-stop, like it’s the most interesting thing that could have ever happened. And they keep asking me all these questions about it and… I dunno. I just figured you’d start asking them too.”

“Are you going to ask me about the fire?”

Stiles eyes shot up immediately to Derek’s cool, otherwise unfazed gaze; the last thing he’d expected was for Derek to mention _that_. Almost everyone in Beacon Hills knew about the fire, and the only reason Stiles knew a little more than he should was because he’d gone snooping through his dad’s files late one night. He hadn’t gotten too far before his dad busted him, but he’d learned enough to know that they had determined it was arson, but never caught the assailant due to a lack of evidence.

Stiles didn’t really know how to respond to Derek’s question. Of course he wouldn’t bring up the fire; there were about a million other things he would say to him before that thought even came up. Despite what most people believed, Stiles didn’t always just say the first thought that came to his mind—he knew there were limits, and even though he quite enjoyed pushing boundaries, there were some lines even he wouldn’t cross. Plus, if there was anyone who knew not to talk about a death in someone’s family, it was Stiles.

It took his brain surprisingly long to connect those dots; Derek had asked because of what Stiles had said. Derek understood what it was like to be the center of unwanted attention, to be the recipient of excessive sympathy and sad looks. He’d gone through the same thing Stiles was going through now. “No,” he said when he finally got his brain to mouth sensors working, “no, I’m not.”

“Good,” Derek replied.

There was a certain relief that came with being able to relate to someone about this; everyone else either offered him that obnoxious sympathetic look, or, now, wanted to talk about that stupid chair. Stiles could understand why Derek became so anti-social after the fire—it was easier that way. Stiles began to realize that maybe he and Derek weren’t so different after all.

With that behind them, Stiles felt himself relax. “So Derek,” he began easily, “why aren’t you dancing?”

Derek gave him a look that said ‘ _you must be crazy_ ’ before saying, “I don’t dance.”

“Lie,” Stiles said immediately, a smile lilting his lips. “ _Everybody_ dances. Fact.”

“Not me,” was Derek’s simple response.

“Aw, come on!” Stiles moved just that much closer, placing his hands on Derek’s hips in a mock dance pose, picturing Derek out on the dance floor moving to the beat of the music. “I bet you’d be a great dancer.”

The moment when Derek looked down at Stiles’ hands, Stiles realized he may have made a grave mistake. He flexed his hands unconsciously, feeling the hard muscle beneath his fingertips. He could feel the tell-tale heat begin to flush his cheeks and quickly made a move to pull his hands back, knowing he’d crossed a line

So when Derek reached out and captured his wrists after they had gotten only a few inches away, his whole world stopped.

He could feel his heart rate spike as he stared at Derek’s hands enclosing his wrists, looking at them as if they were something foreign. The grip was sure, and Stiles couldn’t help but notice how Derek’s hands felt against his skin. When he was finally able to look back up, Derek’s green eyes were staring directly into his own and he had a brief moment to wonder when they had gotten so close. Derek’s hands fell from his wrists, but he made no move to change the distance between them.

“I can think of better things to do than dancing.”

There was a long moment when nothing happened, when their eyes locked, neither of them moved and it was as if time itself stood still. But then Derek tilted his head forward, eyes breaking contact to look down at Stiles’ lips before looking back up again, as if asking permission. Derek hesitated, giving him time to pull away if he wanted, before he pressed his lips solidly against his own. And that, that was about the second Stiles’ brain shut off completely.

Derek Hale didn’t go for guys like him.

There was a long pause where Stiles was unable to think past _holy crap there is no way this is real_. This had to be a dream, because there was no way that the lips currently pressed against his belonged to _Derek Hale._ But when Derek began to pull back, it was as if a spark had been ignited in Stiles’ brain and he suddenly realized that yes, this was Derek Hale kissing him, and like hell he was going to pass that up.

Once he was finally able to get his hands working again, he made sure to put them to good use. One fell on Derek’s hip in the same place was before, keeping him from pulling away completely. The other came to rest at the nape of Derek’s neck, pulling him back in before their lips could part. He kissed him fervently, making sure there was no mistaking how much Stiles was very much okay with this.

It took a moment, but then Derek was back on board, meeting each of Stiles’ kisses with just as much fervor. Derek’s hands made their way around his waist, pulling their bodies impossibly closer while drawing a soft groan from Stiles’ lips.

It didn’t take long for their kiss to become heated, Stiles’ hands sneaking beneath Derek’s black shirt, itching to touch. What could he say? Stiles was a tactile sort of guy, and alcohol only intensified it. Besides, he couldn’t exactly deny his desire to know what those muscles would feel like beneath his fingertips, nor did he ever expect the chance to find out.

And the answer? _Incredible_.

Derek leaned into the touch, prompting his explorations further, running his hands over Derek’s back and sides, pulling a groan from Derek’s lips. The sound was heavenly and Stiles wanted to hear it again, find out what other touches could coax it from him. Stiles couldn’t even be embarrassed about the sounds spilling from his own lips because damn, was it _good_.

That was, of course, until he heard someone clearing their throat loudly behind him.

He pulled back from the kiss as if burned, and he could feel Derek’s body tense beneath his fingers, although whether it was in annoyance or embarrassment he couldn’t tell. He’d put his money on annoyance since the sound that left Derek’s throat sounded far too close to a growl to be anything else. Also, that sound should be anything but arousing, but it seems his body didn’t get the memo because it was truly unfair the way he had to suppress the sounds threatening to spill from his own lips because of it.

For a moment he worried that it was Erica or Laura and that a lot of teasing was coming their way, or, worse, that it was Scott, and that he would have a lot of explaining to do.

“Excuse me, but you’re blocking the drinks. Mind moving?”

Relief flooded through him at the high-pitched and mercifully unknown voice. As he released a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, Derek finally looked down at him with what looked to be an amused expression. Then he turned to whoever had interrupted them with a look Stiles could only describe as murderous. But before Stiles could see her reaction, Derek was leading him out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

That gave him pause. _Nobody_ was allowed upstairs (by threat of dismemberment, Erica had sweetly informed him). But he supposed Derek _did_ live here, so he could go wherever he pleased.

As if sensing his hesitation, Derek paused halfway up the steps, turning around to look down at him with a curious expression. He turned to look back up the stairs for a moment before looking back down at Stiles. “It’s quieter up here,” he said by way of explanation, then added, “more private.”

Stiles knew that there was a question hidden within that statement, whether he wanted to continue with this or not. But the idea of getting all over Derek (or Derek getting all over him) didn’t strike him as having any downsides, so he simply nodded and replied, “Yeah, ok.”

Derek led him the rest of the way up the stairs, guiding him down a nondescript hallway. Glancing around, Stiles noticed that the walls were completely bare, not even a single picture hanging up anywhere. Stiles thought of his own house, where practically every inch was filled with pictures of various family members. Seeing a hallway so bare… well, it wasn’t so much unsettling as it was clinical, as if they had never truly moved into the house and merely occupied its living space. Something about that made Stiles’ chest ache.

When he stepped inside Derek’s room, one glance around showed that it was no different from the hallway outside. There were the main staples of a room—a bed, a dresser, a desk, even a bookshelf—but nothing beyond the furnishings, nothing that made the room _his_.

“You ok?”

Stiles glanced up at Derek, and the expression on his face made him realize that he’d just been staring at his room. “Oh, yeah,” he said somewhat sheepishly, “yeah, I’m good.”

With nothing more than a quirk of his eyebrow, Derek closed the door before walking over to him. He stopped mere inches from him, bodies close by not touching. “Then, shall we?”

Stiles leaned in and pressed their lips together by way of answer; he was too eager to touch, and too buzzed to care about being too eager. His hands slipped beneath Derek’s shirt once more, albeit this time with more intent, pushing it up to reveal more flesh. He could feel the smile beneath his lips before Derek pulled away, yanking off his t-shirt and tossing it aside.

Stiles knew he was staring, and somewhere in his mind he was aware that his mouth was probably hanging open. But at the sight of Derek without a shirt, tanned skin and abs on full display, well, who could blame him?

“Like what you see?”

He pulled his eyes away to see Derek wearing a smug grin.

In retaliation, he merely nodded. “It’s alright,” he said with a shrug, “I think I can work with this.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, but his expression was full-on predatory now. “Is that so?”

Stiles wasn’t sure whether he should be turned on or scared. His body decided on the former.

“Completely. Totally. Very doable.”

Derek’s grin had turned into a smile now, which surprisingly wasn’t mocking. “Glad to hear it.”

Derek’s hands went to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head before tossing it aside. “Huh.” The word was spoken on a breath as Derek’s eyes raked over his now exposed chest. With a nod, Derek said, “That’ll work.”

Stiles was pretty sure it was meant to be a tease, but any affect was lost by the look in Derek’s eyes, as if Stiles was something to be desired. Stiles wasn’t self-deprecating or anything, but he knew what he looked like, especially compared to Derek. But when Derek’s lips found his skin he let those thoughts float away, instead setting about the task of removing the rest of their clothes. And when bare flesh finally met bare flesh, it was as if something suddenly clicked.

Their movements flowed. Before he knew it, he was being pressed down into the surprisingly soft sheets. Stubble scrapped over his hips in the most delicious way as his fingers curled into dark hair. It was easy losing himself like this. He didn’t have to think, just feel. The press of Derek’s lips, his rough hands moving against the exposed skin at his waist. He ignited at every point of contact and his body felt like it was on fire, even as a shiver ran down his spine. It was _so_ good. _Too_ good.

A lot went unspoken. It was odd that way. Most of his encounters had been ‘yes, no, I don’t do that, turn that way’. Yet they barely spoke at all. All that passed between them were heated breaths and cries of pleasure. When Derek pressed into him, it felt right. He didn’t feel like some fragile, broken thing; he felt whole for the first time since...

That scared him the most.

He didn’t want to feel empty again. Couldn’t. But as his legs wrapped around Derek’s waist, urging him deeper, he pushed those thoughts away.

He held himself on the edge for as long as he could, but it all became too much. With Derek’s name between his lips, he rushed over the edge, hands clinging to sweat-slick skin. Derek followed soon after, burying his head in Stiles’ shoulder.

They stayed liked that, wrapped in each other, riding the tails of bliss before their bodies gave out, and even a little after. When Derek finally pulled out he laid beside him, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ waist, pulling him flush to his chest.

Stiles wasn’t a cuddler. Never had been. But he was too tired to argue. And, even if he could, he wouldn’t have. It felt too nice to pull away. He felt warm and sated. Content.

He tried not to think about that too hard as he drifted to sleep.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Derek wasn’t a cuddler. Never had been. Not even with Kate.

Well, that one was up for debate. He wasn’t sure whether he just didn’t like to cuddle, or she never let him. Maybe that should have been sign. So many other things were.

Stiles was currently laying partially over his chest, his arm thrown across his waist and his head resting on his shoulder. Derek was on the edge of being too hot, and his limbs were itching to move beneath where they were pinned down. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to wake Stiles up. He looked too peaceful while he slept, and Derek couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the feeling of another body pressed against his own. So instead he allowed himself to relax and enjoy the feeling of sharing his space with another person, a rare occurrence after Kate.

Without realizing it, he found himself running his fingertips up and down the plane of Stiles’ back. His skin was soft and warm to the touch, bringing back memories of last night. He couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed their sex more than any hookup he’d had before, but he couldn’t explain why. They had just been _good_ together, like they’d been doing this their whole lives. Like it was natural.

It was that thought that caused a certain uneasiness within Derek, a feeling he couldn’t shake it. But then Stiles shifted on top of him, pulling him away from those thoughts altogether.

“Feels nice,” he mumbled against Derek’s shoulder, slowly blinking his eyes open.

A faint smiled touched Derek’s lips as he continued to run his fingertips over Stiles’ back. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles wrinkled his nose in thought. “Mm. Heads a little fuzzy, but I think I’ll survive.” Just then Derek heard a low rumbling sound before Stiles groaned. “If I don’t die of starvation first.”

“Come on,” he said as he pulled himself from beneath Stiles, finding a pair of pants to slip on, “I think I can find you something to eat.”

Once dressed, Derek led them downstairs and into the kitchen, walking to the freezer and pulling out a box of frozen waffles. They weren’t his favorite—he could always slightly taste the freezer burn even after they were toasted—but they were quick and easy to make, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to tackle the pile of drinks and leftover food bowls that currently overflowed from the sink onto the counter. He pulled out four, stuck them in the toaster before putting the box back in the freezer.   
  
“Oh, frozen waffles? Fancy—please, don’t pull out the stops for little ‘ol me,” Stiles said as he leaned against the counter, grinning over at Derek.

Derek merely huffed in response; if his voice wasn’t enough, the low grumble he could hear in Stiles’ stomach was enough to prove the complaint wasn’t sincere.

“So,” Stiles began in a voice that was trying to sound casual, “been awhile since your last hookup?”

Derek stared at him, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

A laugh escaped Stiles’ lips, high and short. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he began as an easy smile lingered on his face, “but your pick-up line was a little cheesy.”

“Pick-up line…” Derek parroted dumbly, trying to figure out exactly what he was referring to. “I don’t—”

“I can think of better things to do than dancing?” Stiles cut him off, his smile turning into a smirk somewhere along the way.

Derek suddenly realized what Stiles was referring to. He closed his eyes briefly as he recalled that moment, a little hazy due to the amount of alcohol (and lust) that had been clouding his judgment at that moment. Yeah, he wasn’t too proud of that line, but it had slipped out of his mouth before he’d really thought about it. Plus, he hadn’t really been too focused on sounding suave at that moment anyways.

Ever since… well, since Derek had started hooking up again, he hadn’t really put much effort into it. It was always obvious when the people he approached wanted him, and a cheesy line or two was all it really took to get them home and sans-clothing. By the morning they were gone, never to be seen again. It didn’t matter what he said or did, they were both only in it for one thing, and charm had never really been a necessary part of the equation.

“Yeah,” he breathed out a sigh, opening his eyes to look back up at Stiles who was still grinning stupidly. “Yeah, it’s been awhile.”

“Knew it!” Stiles declared triumphantly. Then, as if assessing his statement, suddenly looked sheepish as he scratched the back of his head. “Um, it’s a… it’s been awhile for me too. So, you know, no judgment here.”

Derek merely rolled his eyes, but let a smile tug at his lips. “Glad to know my sexual prowess isn’t being judged.”

“Judgment free zone,” Stiles said, spreading his arms out around. “But the sex,” he continued thoughtfully, “that was good. Very good. Superb. A-plus.”

“Stiles.”

“Hm?”

Derek stared for a moment, watching as Stiles’ cheeks slowly turned red before he spoke, “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Derek couldn’t contain his laughter when Stiles’ jaw dropped.

“Not _too bad?_ I will have you know that I—”

Before Stiles could continue, Derek gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him into a searing kiss. It proved to be a very effective way of silencing him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles moaned as he pulled away. “You’re really good at that.”

“So I’ve been told.”

That tore a laugh from Stiles. “Please, your modesty is killing me.”

Derek couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his lips from Stiles’ laugh.

There was a pause where Stiles’ hand came to rest on his cheek, his thumb grazing over his stubble. “You look gorgeous when you smile, you know that?” Stiles’ expression looked almost reverent. “You should do it more often.”

Derek wasn’t sure what to do with that. It was something Laura said to him often, though more along the lines of ‘you should try to smile more and not look like a serial killer’ than anything. But Stiles… Stiles was looking at him all wrong. He was looking at him as if he were something to be desired. Something to be cherished.

Derek was none of those things. He was a pretty face and a good lay. That was all he had to offer.

“Hey,” Stiles began slowly, the smile still lingering on his face, “let’s not turn this into anything… complicated.”

“Complicated?"

“Yeah, I don’t know, you just have this look on your face like you’re worried I’m about to drop down on my knee and propose or something.”

He answered with a questioning look. “That’s not—”

“No, mister expressive eyebrows, you don’t get to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Look, what happened between us was totally awesome and cool, but I’m not going to freak out and make anything of it. Just,” he looked around for a moment before finding a pen and piece of paper, writing something down before holding it out for Derek to take. When he did, he realized that written neatly across the page were ten numbers. “Call me, or text, or whatever,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “whenever you want. For whatever reason.”

Derek didn’t miss the openness of that statement, of the possibilities it left between them. As he stared down at the numbers, he realized that he was offering more than just a fuck buddy—he was offering his friendship, too. The concept was foreign to Derek, and he almost didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t _do_ friendships, at least not the way he used to, and especially not with the people he was hooking up with. But when he looked back up to meet Stiles’ gaze, nothing but honesty (and a hint of hopefulness) within his eyes, he couldn’t refuse him. Instead, he reached for the pen and, grabbing Stiles’ left hand, proceeded to write his own number into his upturned palm.

“Same goes for you,” he said by way of explanation when he finished.

He couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of gratification when a large smile spread across Stiles’ face at the realization of what he’d written. “That’s um… great. Yeah.” When he finally looked up at Derek, his smile grew even wider. Derek had a feeling he could get used to that smile.

Stiles left not long after that, taking his waffles to go once he realized what time it was, assuring Derek that he didn’t need a ride since he’d brought his jeep. Once he was gone, Derek walked back into the kitchen, taking his own waffles out of the toaster. He sat down down at the table while he ate them, noting just how much of a mess it was. He felt bad for whoever had to clean it up, because he fully intended on avoiding that duty.

Moments later Laura walked down the steps, her nose instantly wrinkling when she stepped into the kitchen. “Morning,” she said, acknowledging him as she walked to the freezer. “How was your night? Didn’t spend it hiding away in your room, did you? I barely saw you.”

“Not exactly,” he said by way of explanation. “I was out back with Boyd mostly.”

“See!” she said with a broad smile as she popped two frozen waffles into the toaster, “I told you they’re not so bad. You just have to give them a chance.”

“Mm,” he replied with a nod, watching her as she meandered about the kitchen. He opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped himself before he could. There was a question burning in his mind, but he wasn’t sure how to ask it.

Laura grabbed the waffles once they popped up, stuffing them in her mouth in a very unladylike fashion as she searched the cupboard for a cup. Once secured, she filled it up with orange juice before pulling the waffles out of her mouth and eating them one at a time. After her last bite, she took a sip of her juice before narrowing her eyes at Derek.

“Talk.”

It was more of a command than anything, but it wasn’t her alpha tone; she wasn’t forcing him, just insisting. He was once again reminded that his sister knew him too well. With a sigh, he finally gave in and asked. “Do we… are mates a real thing?”

It’d been something he’d never asked his parents about, nor had he cared about; to him, Kate was the be-all end-all, and he (irrationally) never saw anything beyond her. But after her, he’d given up on the notion altogether. That was until last night. He really didn’t want to ask Laura about it, but she was the only one who might have any insight on the topic other than Peter, and there was no way he was going to ask him.

Laura looked at him for a long moment before her features morphed into something that almost looked pained. “Why are you asking?”

It was Derek’s turn to give her a pained look, but he knew ‘it’s none of your business’ would never fly with her, especially when he’d been the one to as the question. Besides, she already had a look that said ‘you better tell me or else’ working onto her features before he’d have a chance to argue.

“I met someone last night. He…” Derek looked down at his hands in lieu of having to look into Laura’s eyes, “I don’t know what it was about his scent, but I was sort of, I don’t know, drawn to it I guess?”

When he finally did look at her, her expression was something close to wary. “Derek, are you referring to the Stilinski kid?”

He tried to look nonchalant as he shrugged, and failed miserably. There was always something about her gaze that made him feel smaller than he really was. “Maybe.”

She fell down into the seat next to him heavily, sighing as she ran her hands over her face. He knew before she even started that he wouldn’t like what she was about to say.

“Derek,” she began slowly, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, God, I really do, but mates—at least in the sense of some preordained, perfect person the universe created for you—don’t exist. We live and love just as humans do—no special werewolf magic there.”

“Then what about—”

“It’s not uncommon to be attracted to certain scents more than others,” she went on, “but what you felt… It was probably some form of empathy. He’s been going through a lot lately, so his scent reflects that.” She let out a huff of air, as if grasping for the right words. “Think of it like a coping mechanism. You find someone who can relate to you, who understands what you’re going through, so of course you’re going to be attracted to that.”

She stared at him, as if waiting for a response, but Derek didn’t have one to give. He didn’t know how to process this, what to do with this new bit of information. Instead, he simply replied with, “Ok.”

She continued looking at him, seemingly searching his face for some sign of what he was thinking, but he wasn’t even sure what was going on in his mind. Eventually she sighed and stood up, gently squeezing his shoulder as she passed him. “Go help the betas clean up,” she said in a voice that was stern, but still warm enough to not be a command.

Derek glanced around at the mess that extended far beyond the kitchen, scrunching his nose at the task before him, one he’d previously hoped to avoid. “And you’re not helping because?” he asked as he leaned back in his chair, one hand playing with the pen still sitting on the table-top.

“I’ve got alpha stuff to do,” she said in a teasing voice, and even without turning around he knew she’d stuck her tongue out at him. It made a smile tug at his lips. “So quit your bitching and hop-to.”

“Yes _ma’am_ ,” he said as he tipped his head back while giving a lazy salute, knowing how much she hated that moniker. It earned him a slap on the back of the head before she finally left.

He sat there, staring down at the hand that was lazily twirling the pen between his fingers. He could still remember the way Stiles’ skin had felt beneath his fingertips, how he could feel him shiver beneath his touch. Maybe what Laura had said was true, and everything between him and Stiles had just been a circumstance of right-place-at-the-right-time. Maybe Stiles was no different than any of the other strangers he took to bed for a night, escaping reality for a few hours.

But he wasn’t. Deep in his bones, Derek knew Stiles wasn’t the same. Stiles was able to get under his skin in a way that no one else could, like he was reaching inside of him and pulling him apart, piece by piece. And that thought alone should scare the hell out of Derek, having him running for the hills immediately, but for some reason it didn’t. There was a part of him that liked the feeling of being picked apart, that wanted to do the same to Stiles until he found out what was inside.

Closing his eyes, Derek drew in a deep breath. He knew he was truly fucked when he started thinking this way, but he was too tired to care.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed out a message to Stiles. He read over it twice, debated only for a moment before hitting send.

**Laura stuck me on clean-up duty. Be glad you don’t have a sister**

Just as Derek made it out to the living room, he received a reply.

**Dude my dad’s the sheriff. Pretty sure I win this round.**

He felt a smile tug at his lips as he read his response. It felt easy… nice.

A moment later, he received another text. **But why are you listening to Laura? Shouldn’t Peter be the one bitching about the state of the house?**  

He wanted to reply and say _no, my sister’s the alpha and makes all the rules, despite how much Peter hates it_ , but he knew that would raise too many questions. There was a reason they kept who they were a secret, and besides, he didn’t feel like scaring him off just yet.

Instead he wrote **Trust me, Laura’s the scary one**

**Can’t say I disagree**

Another moment passed before he received: **Please don’t tell her I said that**

That managed to pull a full-out laugh from his chest, which made Laura yell at him from somewhere in the house to stop goofing off and get to work. It only made his smile that much wider.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Any comments, critiques or praise, are very welcome. Seeing as this is my first work posted on here, feedback is much appreciated and helpful. I think I've decided to continue with this universe, so there will be more Stiles and Derek spiraling down to come.
> 
> I'm JazzyNym on tumblr if you want to comment on/inquire about the story or just say hi!


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